


'cause i'm a little unsteady

by SbiderSlut (BlackCoffeeCat)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Background Relationships, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-02 09:12:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16784002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackCoffeeCat/pseuds/SbiderSlut
Summary: Heartbroken teenagers and narcotics mix a little too well -- Peter Parker learns this the hard way.He loses some; he gains some. He struggles; he grows. And finally, he finds his own, quiet version of love in Tony Stark.---Or: Glimpses of Peter Parker as he battles with drug addiction and gets his happy-ish ending





	'cause i'm a little unsteady

**Author's Note:**

> So. This one was tough. It was easy to write -- came right out, but it was hard, because it hurt. But I reeeaaally wanted to write it. 
> 
> First and foremost, even though the story is heavy on the interactions between Tony and Peter, the romantic relationship is secondary to the main conflict. It's added in here because I'm a huge softie for Starker, and I definitely wanted to include something romantic and happy. But, romantic love is absolutely not a necessity in recovery, and it certainly doesn't happen in every instance. 
> 
> Romantic love doesn’t save Peter. Other people don’t save Peter. Peter saves Peter. I think that's a very important distinction I should make. Peter works hard, progresses with the support of his loved ones, and he just happens to find a healthy romantic relationship along the way. 
> 
> (Obviously, this fic deals with substance abuse and addiction. If that's a sensitive topic, I recommend you either skip this or proceed with caution.) 
> 
> (Also, Peter starts out as a rising senior in this fic, recovers over the summer, and then continues to recover through his senior year. He is 18 by the time he and Tony finally decide to pursue a romantic relationship.)

It starts small. It starts at a party.

It’s funny how so many things do.

If asked later on, Peter wouldn’t be able to tell you how he ends up at a party without Ned, without MJ, clutching a beer and watching several of his classmates draw lines of heroin on the glass coffee table. It just ... _happened_.

Off-handedly, he thinks that this is the exact type of thing Spider-Man would be against. This is the exact type of situation Spider-Man would try to break up while attempting to stress to a crowd of impressionable teens that drugs aren’t the answer.

But he’s just Peter Parker, tonight. He _is_ a young, impressionable teen -- nothing more.

It had been too rough a week for Spider-Man. He’d been late to stop a murder, and then he’d had to save a young girl from ... Well, he’d rather not think about it. He’d been sick for hours after that patrol, and he still can’t quite get the imaginary dirtiness off his skin.

So he’d really prefer to not be Spider-Man tonight. He’d rather not have that responsibility on his shoulders. Instead, he wants just one night where he can be a simple teenager who is allowed to feel sad, who can put himself and his feelings first.

Perhaps that’s why, when Sandra from APUSH turns to him and asks if he wants a go, he _doesn’t_ gently turn her down.

The thing people forget about Midtown and other ‘smart-kid’ schools is that there’s an immense amount of pressure. Sure, the best of these schools nurture learning and creativity, and they crank out promising young adults who move on to excel at MIT or Caltech, but it’s not always pretty in the making.

And Midtown has been struggling with statistically higher rates of mental illness and suicide for many years, now.

These kids, they’re not bad kids. Even as they pull out drugs and lay them over the table, even as they may occasionally be the perpetrator of bullying and teenage pettiness, they’re _kids._ They have people they love earnestly, and a bottomless well of tears to shed, and fragile feelings that undoubtedly get trampled too often. They have heartbreaks that suck the breath right out of them -- what teenager doesn’t?

Peter notices, as Sandra pulls her hand back from cutting a white line in front of him, the angry red ones adorning her wrist, barely hidden by a loose sleeve. He’s seen her throw away food, and now, he knows this other thing, too. She meets his eyes, and a look passes between them. She offers him a weak smile, one that’s soft, kind, and a little bit mangled.

Peter responds with one of his own, and the moment passes.

They all have their individual _things_ , after all.

Peter has things, too. Things that _hurt_. Things that keep him up at night. Things that lead to quiet tears shed into the softness of his pillow.

He finds that these days, he’s hurting more often than not.

Sometimes, he feels his death like a phantom pain, and he wonders if he actually exists. Is he real, or is this a hallucination of the afterlife?

Other times, the knowledge of where he’s been, what he's gone through, seems to suffocate him from the inside. He chokes on frustration, because even after everything that happened, even after the lengths Tony and the Avengers went to save the universe, people still die and get hurt from mundane things. Every fucking day.

As a superhero, he still has to try and fail, try and fail -- a vicious cycle of life they're all forced to ride and powerless to stop. It’s a lot of responsibility for someone who’s already carrying a full plate.

He can't _breathe_. It feels like he hasn’t actually breathed in far too long.

So, Peter ducks his head down. Following Sandra’s gentle instructions and reveling in the warmth of her hand on his arm, he takes his first draw.

\---

“Hey, kiddo, what’s up?”

“H-How do you mean?”

“You look peaky. Are you sick? I thought spider-boys didn’t get sick.”

“Uh. I-I didn’t sleep well. Exams, you know?”

“...”

“I’m smart, but a school for geniuses is still challenging, Mr. Stark.”

“Alright, kid, if you say so. Just don’t let the stress of your obligations stop you from taking care of yourself, alright? There’s only room for one of me in this room. And take it easy on the patrols for the next few weeks, _Capiche_?”

“Uh. Yes. _Capiche_.”

“That was inordinately easy. You don’t usually agree with me so easily. You sure you’re alright?”

“Yes. Just tired. I’ll get some rest. Promise.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s good. Good kid.”

_... not as good as you think._

\---

First _hit, best hit._

Peter quickly learns that key piece of information. With a muted horror, he realizes he’s already attached after that first time. 

Then, there's a second. And a third, and a fourth.

He slips, just like that, so fast and smooth that he can’t even think to catch himself.

Nobody had warned him that it would be so easy -- that heartbroken teenagers and drugs were a magnetic pair which stuck together too tight.

It’s all too easy for him to nurture this new _thing_ like a weed that virulently grows. He makes money from the internship, and May’s never known him to be a problem child. It’s all too easy to keep buying and buying and buying. 

To keep using, and using, and using.

Before this, he’d thought -- from watching television -- that opiates would take him to a different realm. He thought he'd be chasing some sort of euphoria.

Nobody bothered to tell him that what he needed to look out for was the feeling of being simply _alright._ It’s like ... the euphoria's good. But afterwards, there's always that short window of time when he feels okay. 

Content. 

Not sad, for once.

Safely untouchable, tucked away in a quiet place where nothing felt like much.

And that, more than the euphoria, is what ends up trapping him.

\---

“Hey. Kid.”

“Uh. Yeah, Mr. Stark?”

“Remember that time I told you to take it easy and take better care of yourself?”

“Y-yeah. Why? What’s up?”

“You didn’t take my advice, did you? You look like shit, kid.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“No, seriously. What’s wrong? Are your spider powers fucking with you? Is it food? Do you have a severe illness?”

“No ... I just. I don’t know.”

“Jesus, you’re shaking. Are you cold?”

“Y-yeah. Sure. I get cold easily.”

“... _Peter_. If there’s something wrong, you can tell me, you know? I’m here for you. Let me help you.”

“I’m just tired, Mr. Stark. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, but I’ll be better.”

“It’s not a question of being better, Peter. You’re good. You’re so good. I’m not asking you to be better. I just want you to take care of yourself.”

“Ok. Ok. Fine.”

“That doesn’t sound fine. How can I help?”

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll take better care of myself, okay? I ... I have to go.”

“Where?”

“Thing with May.”

“That’s a lie, isn’t it?”

“It’s not, I swear, I really have to go, okay? Okay. I’m ... going to go now. I’m sorry.”

“Kid. Wait. Hold up.”

“Sorry -- I. Gotta go. Bye, Mr. Stark. Thanks for having me. I’ll text you.”

“Okay, you go ahead and do that. I’ll be waiting.”

\---

It’s not the rest of the world that changes, Peter knows that. It’s _him._ He’s become this warped _thing_ that’s not the Peter his family and friends know. And he’s hurting them.

He’s never been great at keeping secrets, either.

So one by one, they figure him out.

*

MJ cries when she finds out.

It’s not surprising that she's the first. MJ has always been ridiculously good at sniffing out Peter’s secrets. There’s no hiding anything from her. So, when she asks him in that no-bullshit way of hers, he simply confirms.

And she cries.

Even in his numbed-out state, Peter is horrified. MJ never displays any emotions, let alone sadness, but here she is, sitting on his lower bunk and staring at him with these horrible, fat tears just rolling down her cheeks.

“Why? In what _fucking universe_ would you think this was a good idea, Parker? I thought you were smarter than this! Why?”

MJ's angry tone has always been downright terrifying, but Peter would rather have her yelling at him forever than know how her voice warbles as she cries.

He’ll never forget how it sounds.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and she just cries harder, voice crackling and face scrunching up.

“Don’t apologize to me, you fucking dweeb,” she snaps, fierce even as her breath starts hitching. “Apologize to yourself! Do you know how your life is going to be, now? You don’t just forget addiction, you’re gonna be dealing with this for the rest of your life.”

Peter nods. “I -- I know.”

She breaks, then. She buries her face in her hands and just _bawls_ , letting out these loud, crestfallen sobs that make her skinny frame heave and shudder.

And Peter just _lets her_. He’s not quite sure where his own tears are. He feels terrible as he watches her, but it’s like some essential parts of him have short-circuited and burnt out.

“I thought we’d be fine,” she eventually sobs out. “You, me, and Ned? I thought we would be fine. We had each other. Why didn’t you come to us, Peter? Why didn’t you say something?”

“I ...” _I was hurting._ “It hurt too much.”

She looks up at him, then, face red and blotchy and wretched. “Then you come to us, Peter!” she says, wiping furiously at the snot on her nose. “Life hurts, okay? It fucking hurts; you think I don’t know that? I --” she cuts herself off and closes her eyes for a moment to regain composure, and then she takes several deep, trembling breaths. 

“We’re teenagers,” she eventually continues, voice low and steady as if trying to keep herself calm. “We’re going to get all battered up because life isn’t nice to us by default, but we have options. We’re not alone. You weren’t alone.”

She pauses, swallows, and says, voice firm and strong, “You _aren’t_ alone.”

*

Ned just ... _stares_.

He’s next, both because MJ convinces Peter to tell Ned, and also because Peter needs to explain why he’s been acting so shittily as of recent. He needs to tell the truth, because he’s been temperamental, and he owes Ned both an explanation and an apology.

And Ned just stares at him in disbelief and shock. “P-Peter,” he stutters in that guileless way of his that’s always been so endearing, that's never used to fail at smoothing away Peter’s rough edges and putting a smile on his face. “Wha-Why? How?”

Ned has always been a piece of home. There’s always been something so _Ned Leeds_ about him that seems designed to fit with _Peter Parker._ And Peter loves Ned in a way that he’ll never be able to explain, because that’s just how they are.

And now, Ned is looking at Peter like he’s baffled by who his best friend has turned out to be.

How did he get here?

“Peter, you have to get help,” Ned says -- no, _pleads_. “You-you’ve been a ghost lately. And this is serious stuff. They warn you not to do this in health class. You could _die_.”

There’s something so painfully simple and straightforward with the way Ned frames all of his words. Whether it’s related to Spider-Man, the internship, schoolwork, or any other thing, Ned always seems to be the voice of reason that Peter finds comfort in. When life gets difficult, Ned makes it simple, one movie night or Lego-building session at a time.

One secret handshake and warm smile at a time.

“I -- Ned. What do I do?” Peter presses the heels of his hands against his eyes and tries to ignore how they’re beginning to tremble. God, he’s in so deep. He’s so, so addicted, it’s not even funny.

He’s become those badly acted teens in those shitty videos they make everyone watch in health class, and he doesn't know what to do.

“I don’t know what to do, Ned,” he whispers. “Fuck.”

“You _have_ to tell May,” Ned says, voice resolute and assured. “Let’s talk to May, first. I’ll tell her with you. Then we’ll go from there.”

Thank god for small mercies. In this one moment, Ned’s simple statement still works on Peter. Even with how much he’s drowning, Peter’s not so far gone that Ned can’t reach him.

Does that mean there’s hope for him?

“Okay.” Peter agrees, hands quivering harder. “Let’s talk to May.”

\---

May hugs him. She hugs him, tight. She silently cries into his hair, but she hugs him nonetheless.

“Oh, honey,” she whispers. “Oh, Peter. Thank you for telling me. I-I wasn’t sure -- I knew something was off, but I didn’t think --” Her voice breaks off into a high-pitched sob that she quickly swallows back down.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He’s almost relieved to feel the faint prickle of tears at the corners of his eyes and the slight lump forming in his throat. “I’m so sorry. I messed up, May, I messed up so bad and I don’t know how to fix this.”

“It’s going to be okay,” May says. “It’s not going to be easy, but we’re going to get through this. We’re Parkers.”

And because it’s May, Peter somehow manages to believe her.

*

Ned sits with him as May make a call to Tony Stark.

Ned holds his hand.

Ned hands him Lego pieces, and then he picks them up for Peter, again and again, because Peter's hand are shaking so badly that he keeps dropping them.

Ned waits patiently as it takes Peter far too long to snap on a piece, and he easily transitions into starting over when Peter’s hands spasm so violently that he breaks apart everything they’ve built so far.

“That’s why they’re Legos,” Ned murmurs, half to himself and half to Peter. “You break them down and then build them back up, sometimes into different things. But even if you do break them, you can always put them back together.”

 _Like you,_ goes unsaid but heard.

Even as they work away, Peter can hear May’s phone call with his heightened senses. He can hear as she breaks down and cries the tears she'd swallowed down while he was present. He hears her words. 

_‘Tony, I can’t believe this is happening, what do I do? I n_ _ever thought this would happen to my kid. My Peter. You hear about other people’s kids, but you never, ever think it’ll be your own.’_

And there are a few horrible, long minutes where all May does is sob into the phone, and Peter can catch the distant tone of Tony attempting to soothe her.

Eventually, May hangs up and comes to sit with them, crossing her legs and situating herself on the rug. “Peter,” she begins, reaching forward to snap on a Lego piece of her own. “I spoke with Tony, and he’s going to help. He’s going to guide you through this. We’ll be here for you the whole time, but he’s better equipped to help you.”

Once upon a time, Peter would have been horrified at the idea that the object of his infatuations would see him so low. He’s been in love with Tony Stark for so long; he would have blanched at the idea of the man seeing him all strung-out. 

... Of Tony seeing him as a junkie.

But that was before Peter actually got so low. He never realized how many things he’d stop caring about once the drugs took ahold of him.

So all he does is nod. “Okay.”

At this point, he’ll try anything. He’ll agree to anything.

He just needs to find something that works, because he never wants to hear May sob like that again, or see MJ with tears on her face, or face the terrified, heartbroken look in Ned’s eyes that shouldn’t ever belong there.

 _I need to get better_ , he tells himself. _Whatever it takes, I need to get better._

\---

“Kid. Hey.”

“Hi, Mr. Stark.”

“So you’ve got yourself into a bit of a situation, huh?”

“...”

“Well, we’re gonna get you out of it.”

“...”

“Look, between Iron Man and Spider-Man, there’s nothing we can’t send packing. I’m gonna get you the help you need. And _you -- y_ ou’re going to save yourself because you’re Spider-Man and that’s what heroes do. They save people, including themselves.”

“I don’t ...”

“You don’t what?”

“... I don’t know if I’ll ever be Spider-Man again, Mr. Stark. I -- I don't know anything anymore.”

“That’s fine. You want to be Peter Parker? That’s good. Parkers are a tough breed. You don’t have to believe me now, but you’re going to get through this.”

“...”

“Just, trust me? Let me help you? Can you do that, Peter?”

“... Ok.”

“Good. Great. That’s a start. We’ll be okay, kiddo. You'll see.”

\--- 

Tony Stark sweeps into the apartment like the world’s most precise and efficient storm, and then bundles Peter out with him. It’s what he and May agreed on -- Tony has better facilities and resources at the Tower he never actually sold, along with a medical bay and some on-call medical staff.

It's gonna get ugly, Tony had warned her. Detoxing and withdrawals aren’t for the faint of heart, and there are ways she can support Peter without having to watch the worst of it.

May offers and is more than willing to stick around and brave through the worst. There’s nothing she wouldn’t face for her nephew.

But it’s Peter’s call in the end, and he’d rather not put May through that. Not when she’s already shed far too many tears over his mistakes. So they respect his choice, and May allows Tony to whisk Peter away from her.

(“I spoke with my parents,” Ned hurriedly assures Peter as he’s leaving. “I’m going to be staying here to keep May company -- I’m sleeping in your room. Don’t worry, I’ll hold down the fort here. Just focus on getting better, okay?”)

Happy is driving the car. When Peter crawls in, Happy looks back with the softest expression Peter can ever remember seeing on the man's face, but he says nothing.

If Peter weren’t feeling so wretched, he would feel some way about the man’s silence.

He imagines the situation is incredibly unsettling for Happy, because the Peter he's used to driving around is talkative and full of energy. Not some strung out, pale-faced drug addict.

The car ride is miserably silent. Peter clasps his hands together and squeezes, trying to stem the worst of the shaking. He’s only somewhat successful. Halfway through the ride, Peter startles as a warmer and steady hand slides over his. He looks away from the window to meet Tony’s eyes, and the man offers him his best attempt at a comforting smile.

With the dark night and all the streetlights flashing in fast strobes through the interior of the car, it’s easy to see that little bit of Tony Stark that is shaken by Peter’s predicament. As much as the man exudes a sense of confidence and steadfastness, the deep lines on his face and the sadness that's barely masked in his eyes says otherwise.

Here’s one more tally of a person Peter has hurt with his poor decision-making. Here’s one specific tally Peter loves in a way that, once upon a time, had been a great source of stress and turmoil.

The stress of unrequited love sounds so minuscule in comparison, now.

Peter can barely remember how it felt when superhero-ing, school, and his more-than-platonic feelings for his mentor were the biggest worries of his day.

Now, he carries an uncontrollable, self-destructive itch under his skin, and a ledger of all the people he's hurt with his fuck-up. He counts four right now -- that's _four_ people Peter has inadvertently hurt.

“Take care of yourself, kid,” Happy tells him quietly as Peter crawls out of the car. “If you need anything, I’ll be here in the Tower.”

Five people. Peter takes note.

He silently allows Tony to guide him towards the medical wing with a hand on his back, and all he can think is, _five fucking people._

\---

“I can’t do this, sir.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t. Please, I can’t. I need ...”

“What? More drugs? So you can keep going to your Narcan parties? I’m not supplying you more, Parker. That’s not happening.”

“Then I’ll go get it myself, let me out of here.”

“No.”

“I’m not your responsibility, let me out of here!”

“I. Don’t. Care. You’re not leaving.”

“Yes, I am!”

“No, you’re not. I’m not letting you leave.”

“What’re you -- get off of me! What are you doing? Let me go!”

“No. I’m going to hold you down just like this, so you better decide real quick how much you want these drugs.”

_“Fuck you --”_

“Because if you want your drugs that bad, you’re gonna have to break both of my arms and legs before I let you leave, and we both know you’re not going to do that.”

“Fuck you so much, y-you ... you --”

“I’m what? What, Parker? Nothing you say is going to make me get up. _Nothing_.”

“I can’t do this. Help me.”

“I’m trying, Peter.”

“H-help me, Mr. Stark. _Please._ ”

“I’m trying, kiddo. You gotta hang on, okay? I'm so sorry, just hang on. _Fuck_.”

“P-please, make it stop. It h-hurts, Mr. Stark. Make it stop.”

“I know it does. I know, I know. I'm sorry.”

“Help me, please. Help me, help me, help me, _help me_.”

“I’m trying. You gotta _let_ me help you, kid.”

“Save me, please. You’re Iron Man, please, do _something_.”

“... _Peter_. I can’t save you. Nobody else can. It’s all on you, okay? You’re gonna get through this.”

“Oh god, oh god, _ohgodohgodohgod_. What do I do? _What do I do?_ ”

“Just. Hold on, okay? I’m right here. I'm not letting go. I’m not leaving you. Hold on.”

“P-promise?”

“I promise.”

\---

“I loved you,” Peter whispers, when the chills taper off for too brief of a moment. He’s not sure how long it’s been, or what day it is, but the worst of it is over. He’s tired, and dazed, and his body feels like it’s been wrung through a car assembly line. He leans into the cool press of a hand against his forehead.

He’s not sure if he meant to say what he just said, or even why he would ever admit that out loud, but he’s just been on a ride through hell. He’s so tired. So relieved. Everything still aches, but it’s finally _tolerable_. His filters are practically nonexistent. If he had committed murders, he would happily admit to them now without a moment of hesitation.

“I know,” Tony murmurs, “I know. Why do you think I sat on you and refused to get up? I was -- I knew. I knew what you would choose. Or I hoped.”

A tired, defeated laugh escapes Peter. “You knew. Of _course_ you knew.” He pauses to turn his head and retch -- Tony faithfully holds a basin up for him -- before he lays his head back onto his pillow. “You know, everything was so simple. I was hopelessly in love with Tony Stark, and that was one of my biggest problems, back then. God, I was so hung up on you. It seems so ridiculously simple, now.”

A thumb brushes against his cheek and he realizes, through a heavy fog of detachment, that he’s crying. At some point, he’d started crying.

“I can’t remember how that feels anymore,” Peter chokes out. “I can’t remember how it feels to be in love with someone.”

“Oh, kid,” Tony whispers, stroking cool fingers through Peter’s sweaty, matted locks. Turns out, when your mentee is addicted to drugs and falling apart, there isn’t really much you can say. What _could_ anyone say?

Tony stays with him, though. “I’m here,” he tells Peter, again. He’s been saying it so often, it’s just short of becoming a mantra. And it’s a truth Peter can believe in, unlike the conjectural _‘you’ll be alright’_ or the utterly useless _‘I’m sorry’_. Tony hasn’t said any of those more than once or twice, and Peter is grateful.

More importantly, he really hasn’t left Peter’s side. He’s made his words truthful. That matters far more than any number of false platitudes Peter’s seen in shitty television dramas.

“I-Is it okay if --” Peter swallows and takes a raspy breath. “If I get better. Is it okay if I love you again? I don’t care that it’s hopeless. You don’t have to do anything. Just, let me be in love with you and don’t hate me too much? I want to feel like that, again.”

“Yes, that’s fine, Peter. Anything is fine,” Tony blindly concedes. “And _when_ you get better, we’ll talk, okay? _We’ll talk._ Once you get better, you can do anything you want, and I won’t hold it against you. Hell, I’ll buy you an island in the Pacific if you want that. But let's focus on getting you through this first, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter agrees, and then there’s nothing left to say because the shaking starts up again.

Tony doesn’t leave his side, not once.

\---

“Why did you do it, Peter?”

“That first time?

“Yes. Why?”

“I was ... I don’t know. I was ...”

“Sad.”

“Yes.”

“Hurting.”

“Yes.”

“Looking for a temporary way to feel better for a little while.”

“Yes, I. I didn’t think I would get addicted so easily.”

“People rarely do. And I gotta be honest with you -- it’s going to be hard enough staying clean, maybe for the rest of your life. You’re in it for the long haul, kiddo.”

“I know.”

“And life is going to continue to be painful. You’ll have bad days. Weeks. Months, maybe. And you’ll have to struggle with wanting to come back to this. There’ll always be something in the back of your head, telling you to slide back. I’d know.”

“What?”

“I was you. So I know.”

“Mr. Stark ...”

“But we’re going to figure this out, and you’re going to get through this, just like I did, and just like I keep doing, okay?”

“O-okay.”

“But, you have to want this. If you don’t want to get better, nobody can help you. Just tell me, Peter: do you want to get better?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“Thank _God_. I-just, I’m glad. You’re so good, you know? You’re still a good kid.”

“... Can you say that again? Please?”

“You’re a good kid. Whatever happens, you’re still good.”

\---  
  
A strong pair of arms wrap themselves around him, painfully tight. Despite the comfort it offers, Peter struggles. “No, stop,” he begs. “I’m all dirty.” He’s not sure if he means that only in the physical sense, or if he’s referring to himself as a whole. “You can’t -- I’m dirty, I’m fucked up. You shouldn’t -- Why -- Please, you can’t -- Mr. Stark --”

“I can, and I will,” Tony growls, voice low and gravelly. If Peter didn’t know better, he’d say he could hear tears. “I don’t care how far gone you are, I’m not leaving. And I’m not letting you get any further from me.”

It’s just, even after the worst of the withdrawals have passed, there are _really_ bad moments. He’d almost take the physical pain over the emotions, at this point, because that’s what he’s been left with -- vast moments of emptiness, interspersed with devastating sensations and feelings. Immense sadness and despair, inexplicable anger, gut-tearing dejection.

The stuff he’d usually turn to drugs to numb.

That’s not happening anymore, and Peter is ripping apart at the seams.

He says that, and Tony just holds him tighter and tighter, until Peter gives in and falls limp, sobbing his despair into the refuge of Tony’s arms.

“We’ll sew you back together, then,” Tony says.

It’s a ridiculous statement, but to Peter, it’s absolution.

\---

“You know, food tastes better now.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

“It’s like everything is ... brighter? It’s like, I can appreciate some things I hadn’t even realized I’d lost. Hot showers are nice, too. And scents -- May’s essential oils.”

“That’s good, kiddo. That’s real good.”

“And I really like the taste of pineapple pizza.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ. _No, not that_.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Mr. Stark! I kicked the drugs, let me enjoy my pineapple pizza.”

“Kid. I will buy you _all_ the pineapple pizzas in the world. If you’re having a bad day, I will send a Food Network master chef to bake the world’s best pineapple pizza for you, alright? I’m just glad you’re at this point.”

“So am I. I’m really glad I’m here.”

“That’s ... great. That’s great.”

“Are you --?”

“I’m not crying. It’s that dust. From the vents.”

“Oh yeah, damn those vents.”

“Come here, you brat.”

“... I love you.”

“I love you too, Pete.”

\---

It’s not pretty.

They decide early on not to send Peter to an in-patient rehab. It wasn’t an option he was interested in, nor one he believed would suit him.

Tony searches through specialists by the dozens. He consults with so many sociologists and psychologists and experts in addiction that their faces all blur together. He puts together a database to keep track of everyone he talks to. He watches that one damn John Oliver episode a hundred times over. 

He draws in the best medical professionals on the eastern seaboard. He brings in world-class addiction therapists. 

And Peter struggles.

He has days where his rage seems to take over. He has days where he cries in bed for hours upon hours.

Peter nearly slips up, twice, and both times, Tony finds himself holding Peter in his arms as they sit solemly on the tiles his bathroom floor, from sunset to sunup.

They all struggle, in various ways. None of them struggle as much as Peter, but they struggle nonetheless.

Tony feels a weight on him more often than not.

May breaks down -- not in front of Peter, but to Tony. He promptly does his research, sorts through countless testimonials, and enrolls her in multiple support groups for parents of children with substance abuse issues.

While he’s at it, he finds counseling resources for Ned and MJ as well -- both of them were shaken, hard.

One terrible day, Tony finds himself staring at brown paper bag. He throws the bottle against the wall in a fit of rage, scattering glass and booze everywhere. Peter comes rushing to the living room. Of course he heard, because of his super-senses. He takes in the scene, looks at Tony, and wordlessly steps forward to wrap the older man in a tight hug.

”Bad day?” Peter asks after an eternity of holding Tony to him. 

“Bad day,” Tony agrees.

“We’re going to get through this,” Peter murmurs, and Tony believes him. They stand in the kitchen, taking turns shattering plates on the floor until the worst of the itch has released them both from its grip.

And then, they fall asleep in the same bed, tucked tightly against each other.

*

Peter struggles, constantly. He has bad days, often.

He also submits his college applications, and gets acceptances and scholarships. He makes it to more Aca-Dec practices than he misses. He starts _knitting_. His creations are ugly as hell at first, but everyone wears them nonetheless. And his skills improve, rapidly. Peter jokes about starting an Etsy shop, but ends up donating his pieces to homeless shelters.

So, Peter struggles.

But, he also strives. He also fights.

And that’s enough.

\---  
  
“Did you have bad days?”

“I still do, kiddo.”

“Really?”

“Really. Progress isn’t always forward, and it’s definitely not perfect. You’re going to struggle and mess up, sometimes. And you’ll pick yourself up, and keep going.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I ... I fell off the wagon two years ago. Hard.”

“Two years?”

“ _My_ two years. It would have been just a year for you. After you disappeared, I lost it.”

“Mr. Stark ...”

“I’m in a better place now. For a long time, I focused everything on getting you back, and that was the only thing keeping me sober. And slowly, I got better. You came back. I started caring about more than just reversing what happened. And here I am.”

“And you’re doing okay?”

“You’re here. I’m here. The world is spinning and half of the universe isn’t dead. I’m doing pretty well, considering. My point is -- listen closely to me, Peter, alright?”

“I’m listening.”

“You’re going to mess up and you might encounter situations that seem impossible. That’s how life is -- it’s incredibly shitty like that. But no matter what happens, you’ll still be here. And I’ll still be here. And May, and Ned, and the scary-as-hell MJ. And we’ll take the hand we’re dealt and we’ll just _keep going.”_

“...”

“I know it doesn’t sound that great. ‘ _Keep going_.’ Objectively, it can sound weak, doesn’t it? Anyone can keep going, can’t they?”

“It does sound weak.”

“But, it’s not. It’s not weak at all. It’s incredibly fucking difficult. Sometimes, it’s all you can manage to do. And that might not sound like much to you, but it’s _enough_.”

“Enough.”

“Yes, _enough_. You don’t owe it to the world to excel at everything, Peter. Be kind to yourself. Appreciate the effort you’re already giving. Be content to be simply _enough_ , sometimes.”

“I love you, Mr. Stark.”

“I know, kiddo. And I. Um. I love you, too. Did you know that?”

“Mr. Stark?”

“I think it’s time to have that talk I promised you all those months ago, don’t you think?”

“I’m ready.”

\---

“Hey, Tony, wake up.” Peter springs onto the bed and shakes the older man. “Agh! Wake up! Why are you always so sleepy?”

“Ugh, why are _you_ always up so early?” Tony groans and rolls onto his stomach, trying to burrow his head under a pillow. Peter snatches it out of reach. Tony turns his head to the side to shoot Peter an unamused look. “Hey!”

Peter pouts.

Tony sighs and lifts his arm in a silent invitation, smiling to himself as Peter burrows in and tucks himself halfway under Tony’s body. “So, what’s today, Pete? What’s the big excitement?”

“It’s MJ’s graduation party today,” Peter huffs. “I _know_ it’s marked down on your calendar, so you can stop pretending that you don’t keep close track of all of my friends, Tony.”

“Oh, okay, you caught me," Tony relents. "I guess I’ll admit that I went all out on her graduation present, then. Ned’s, too.”

“You’re so nice to my friends. It makes me all warm and fuzzy.” Peter giggles quietly to himself and trails his fingers against Tony’s back. “You’re honestly the best, you know that?”

“Nah, you are,” Tony mumbles, pressing a closed-lipped kiss to Peter’s neck. “You sure you don’t want a graduation party? Isn’t it some right of passage? I'll throw you the _best_ one in _history_.”

Peter hums. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he says. “Being here and healthy is enough for me. Having you, May, and my friends is enough. I don’t want the noise and commotion.” He pauses, then. “Is that a thing that happens? That I like when things are quiet and calm, now? Or am I weird?”

“No, not weird,” Tony reassures him. “I’m starting to like the quiet now, too. We’ve done a lot of living in the past and we’ve gone through a lot for any normal human. It’s time for some peace, don’t you think?”

Peter pulls away slightly, then -- just enough that he can crane his head back and make eye contact with Tony. “Yes,” he says, lips pulling into a soft smile. “It’s definitely time.”

He then pauses and licks his lips in thought. After a long moment, his eyes crinkle in soft contentment. “Today is a good day, Tony,” he says. “I love you. I’m happy.”

“It is a good day,” Tony agrees. He leans forward to capture Peter’s lips in a brief, sweet kiss. “I love you, too.”

Neither of them can ever promise that the next day -- or the day after -- will be good. They can’t know for sure that they won’t slip, hard, or that the world won’t swoop in and mangle them, again and again.

But in this moment, life is good. And that is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Addiction is different for every individual, so this is just one of many possible depictions. And recovery looks different for everyone, as well. There is help, though. If you're struggling, I encourage you to get help. 
> 
> The prevalent image that stood out to me while writing this is the feeling that you're going to die and everything is crumbling apart. Everything feels hopeless. But that one person -- whether they're a lover or a family member or a friend -- just holds onto you, tightly, and doesn't let go. And most importantly, they understand.
> 
> Lastly, if you are struggling, I hear you. My thoughts are with you, and I am rooting for you.
> 
> \---
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as [SbiderSlut](http://sbiderslut.tumblr.com/). Come by and say hi anytime <3


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